


eyes open

by firewoodwander



Series: for the discord, from the discord [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: (they were accidental), Comet sort of maybe fights a bit like Black Widow cos I thought it'd be fun, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, Sparring, not me watching black widow fight comps at 0.25x speed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27642793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodwander/pseuds/firewoodwander
Summary: Boost snorts as Comet checks himself out in the mirrors. His expression is one of mild confusion, his fingers picking at the tight hem of his new, highly fashionable lower blacks where they settle over his upper thigh. Behind them, Sinker is watching with the critical eye of a mastermind.“So?” Comet asks, turning away from his reflection and holding out his arms. “Is this what you wanted? How does it look?”“Kriffing fantastic,” Boost grins. Sinker nods and meets Boost’s eyes with a sly smirk.“Perfect,” he agrees. “He’s not going to know what hit him.”
Relationships: Comet/CC-3636 | Wolffe, background Boost/Sinker
Series: for the discord, from the discord [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017124
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	eyes open

**Author's Note:**

> If you're the cause of this you know who you are. Thank you.  
> Also please stop giving me Ideas, I can’t keep up! 💛

The shorts are some kind of dare. They  _ must _ be.

Wolffe pauses just inside the gym doorway as he takes in the scene on the mats closest to him: Sinker, Boost, the not-shiny they’ve adopted over the months, and a whole lot of skin. 

Comet squeaks as Boost laughs loudly and slaps him on the arse, propelling him forward to meet Sinker on the mats. Sinker, thank the Force, is wearing his blacks as they’re meant to be worn, just with rolled up sleeves. Comet—

Well.

Comet is wearing a spare set of bottoms, just about. At least Wolffe hopes they’re spares—they’ve been shorn off right inside the crease of his thighs, curving skintight around the solid fuck-off muscle of his upper legs, and almost disappear into his arse. Wolffe is surprised they’re even covering his underwear. Or, what if—No. Don’t go there.

Boost seems to have stripped off in some kind of solidarity, shamelessly all the way down to his skivvies and strutting about not even half as sexy as Comet. Although, by the looks his vod’s getting from Sinker, he has at most an hour before he finds himself getting utterly railed in the non-privacy of some unfortunate supply cupboard somewhere. They’re breaking at least three regs between them and they  _ know it _ but Wolffe cannot bring himself to bark at them to pull it together; if Boost has to redress, so will Comet, and that would be a terrible shame.

Wolffe watches the mat closely, every block and swing and roll and jab and kick, and wonders if maybe it’s dangerous that his dick is perking up in interest.

Comet slams down on his back into the mats, Sinker having leapt his full weight on top of him. Endless bare leg snaps around Sinker’s hip to—ouch—to kick a heel right into a kidney, but to no avail. Sinker bars his arm across Comet’s throat and bares his teeth and Comet goes almost completely limp and it’s… it’s something.

“Yield,” Sinker snarls. Comet’s face twists, but he slaps a hand down and taps out. Sinker grins, feral, and rolls off and to his feet.

“Good job, kid!”

Boost gleefully throws a battered grey water canteen at his head. Comet catches it out of the air and rolls to his front before he uncaps it and takes a swig—Wolffe watches the ripple of lean muscle shift in his abdomen before it’s lost to the floor, unable to keep his eyes from being drawn down to the flex of his legs when he kicks them up into the air. The kid makes a rude hand gesture at whatever Boost’s saying and drips water down his wrist, and Wolffe thinks he really ought to stop watching. Like right now. Any time.

“Oi, Commander!” Sinker shouts. Wolffe doesn’t jump, but he does pretend he doesn’t see anything of the all-too-knowing, too-sharp grin he meets in his Sergeant’s expression.

“Evening,” he greets neutrally. “You seem to be having fun.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Sinker replies, sly. “How about you have a go with him, sir? He’s pretty darn good, could use a firm hand to keep him from getting too cocky.”

Wolffe slides his gaze back down to Comet laid lazily over the mat and hums noncommittally. 

“Kid could use knocking down a peg or two,” Boost jokes as he comes to stand next to Sinker, leering. Sinker’s arm slips behind him, and with the way Boost rocks forward on his toes, Wolffe is glad the mirrors are on the other side of the hall.

“You up for a round?” Wolffe asks Comet instead of acknowledging them.

“Of course, Commander,” Comet tells him, perfectly polite, now on his feet and acting as if all is perfectly normal. Wolffe allows himself a slow, lingering once-over; Comet only tips his head to the side and smiles sweet as sugar, just this side of smug. 

The canteen is set down on the bench and he struts back out to the centre of the mats. Wolffe doesn’t look at Sinker or Boost when he kicks off his boots and strips off his shirt, tossing it to the side with his own water. He doesn’t miss the assessing drag of eyes over the breadth of his shoulders, his waist, his chest. He stretches his arms across his front and over his head and shakes them out, and drops into a neutral ready stance across from their resident not-shiny.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Sinker says, and Comet is moving almost before the words have left his mouth. He ducks low and aims a jab that Wolffe blocks, returns, catches the next, can’t quite get to his elbow, so kicks out at the back of a knee. Comet twists his leg away to turn with the motion, grappled against Wolffe’s chest and trying to come back up under his guard—Wolffe knocks him aside with a shoulder and grabs for his waist.

The kid grunts as he goes down. Wolffe caught one of his knees curled up between his shoulder and Comet’s middle when he lunged, a fact he suffers an immediate pang of regret for when he feels it shove him away, curl upwards and squeeze around his middle for leverage. Comet pivots their whole weights around Wolffe and topples them over, landing Comet square onto his chest in one smooth shove. Wolffe swallows, suddenly breathless, and feels the press of hot, solid muscle shift against him—before Comet can wrestle his arms down Wolffe bolts upright and throws him off. The little shout torn from Comet’s throat as his legs slip away and his back hits the mat again is like a gut punch, though Wolffe ignores it furiously, rolling with the momentum when Comet snatches up his wrist and twists outward, hard, kicking Wolffe’s leg out and throwing himself right on top of him all over again.

Wolffe huffs and bucks his hips up hard, feet planted firmly on the floor. Comet yelps and falls forward, just enough for Wolffe to roll them over for a third and final time, pressing all his weight down on Comet’s chest where he’s knelt between his legs. Comet grits his teeth and wraps his thighs like a vice around Wolffe’s waist, to, unfortunately for him, no avail.

“Good luck,” Wolffe growls through an exhilarated grin. Comet narrows his eyes and tries to twist them, succeeding only in shoving his hips into Wolffe’s. “If even Marshal Commander Cody can’t get that one over on me, it’d be bad form if I let a pipsqueak you.”

“Pipsqueak my  _ shebs,” _ Comet snarls breathlessly.

Wolffe snorts. “Come back to me once you’ve put some meat on your bones. I might reconsider.”

With a huff Comet makes one last ditch effort. He hooks one ankle over the other behind Wolffe’s back and rolls up, shifting their centre of mass, and the surprise of it very nearly  _ works. _ Wolffe chokes back a sound when he feels so much of Comet’s body press flush to his, wondering how in the nine hells of Corellia he’s going to get out of this one with his pride intact—blacks may be their last line of defense against the cold vacuum of space, but it doesn’t mean they  _ hide anything. _

Comet’s half-hard in his shorts, tucked neatly beside Wolffe’s own semi, and both of them know it. There’s a fraction of a second where Comet’s eyes flash, sure surprise and something more, before his gaze flicks unmistakably down to glance Wolffe’s lips. Every shivering breath between them is hot and damp on Wolffe’s skin. The flex of Comet around his waist is an unignorable, delicious weight, dragging him all the deeper with every twitch.

“Do you yield?” Wolffe asks, and his voice has dropped right to the depths of his lungs. Comet’s chest labours under his. 

“What if I don’t?” he whispers.

Wolffe raises a brow and trails two fingers down his bare side in teasing. “There’s nowhere for you to go, pup.”

Comet’s shudder is enough to raise the hairs on his arms. Above them, someone coughs.

“Yield,” Comet breathes. His legs drop back and Wolffe rolls away instantly, a hand rising to cover a false cough.

“If you’re okay here, boys,” Sinker says, and he’s looking between them with the most irritating of gratified expressions, “we were thinking of heading back to bunks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wolffe waves him off. “Go on. I don’t wanna know.”

Comet is still curled on the mat, sitting with his knees pulled up to hide his discrepancy. He scowls and sticks his tongue out when Boost signs something that Wolffe can’t see behind Sinker’s back. Boost only grins and winks, tossing his neglected clothes over his shoulder, and saunters out, Sinker only a few paces behind.

Wolffe inspects his hands for a moment, quite aware that neither he nor Comet are showing any signs of moving.

“Want another round?” he asks. Even to his own ears he sounds far too carefully casual. Comet watches him from beneath his lashes for all of a single slow blink.

“If you’d like, sir.”

Wolffe nods. “On your feet,” he gestures, returning to ring to settle opposite, and does his utmost to ignore his lingering discomfort. 

It doesn’t help when Comet unfolds and rises sinuously to his feet, sizing him up and down as if he hadn’t already had a taste.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Wolffe surges forward, a strong punch aimed straight for Comet’s face. Comet sidesteps right and grabs his arm when it passes over his left shoulder, ducking beneath it and spinning Wolffe around him effortlessly. Wolffe blocks a quick succession of jabs and shoves the weakest right back under Comet’s defense, ducking slightly to sweep a leg out at the backs of his knees. The kid lets him catch his outer leg, practically dancing into a wide step that allows him to counter on Wolffe’s off-side with a strong, high-aimed kick from his other leg as he comes back around.

_ Well, _ Wolffe thinks, just barely catching his ankle to throw him off, if he hadn’t known Comet was flexible before, he does now. His only mistake: letting Wolffe see his back.

Comet stumbles, thrown off-balance. That move probably works on a lot of shinies, maybe even an officer or two if he’s lulled them into complacency. Wolffe, however, has him down again in seconds, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to give up just like that; Comet kicks his legs up, landing a hit hard on Wolffe’s shin as he scrambles into a low crouch, an arm and a leg extended behind him and the second firmly on the floor.

“Nice save,” Wolffe says, resettling across from him and rolling his shoulders. Comet watches him, smirks, and launches himself forward at a run.

Wolffe doesn’t register any of what happens until he’s gasping for breath on his back on the floor. 

Instead of the punch or full-body slam he was expecting, Comet leaps, planting his left foot on Wolffe’s left hip and turning to brace on the backs of his shoulders. He slides his right leg around his neck from behind, faster than the stinging tail of a Geonosian sand crawler, and brings the left back around beneath Wolffe’s right arm. He must have used the momentum of his body to swing down so heavily as to wrench Wolffe completely off his shell shocked feet, because suddenly he’s staring up at the ceiling again and Comet has rolled right back onto his upper chest, pinning both arms firmly to his sides with his knees.

“Where the  _ fuck _ did you learn that,” is the only thing Wolffe can think to say, wheezing.

Comet’s smirking again, leaning over him and blocking out the stark white striplighting overhead. The curve of his lips is dangerous, the rumble in his voice utterly captivating when he asks, “Do you yield, Commander Wolffe?”

Wolffe snaps back into his body and growls, already straining up against Comet’s hold and about to get his feet back under him when he snorts and sits back, heavy, into the curve of Wolffe’s hips. 

_ Fuck. _

“That’s ten seconds, sir,” he says. “Do you yield?”

Wolffe’s hands are trapped against his legs—he couldn’t tap out even if he wanted to. Comet, the bastard, is using his own taunts against him. He’s going to make him  _ say _ it, and then he’s going to be smug about it.

“I yield,” Wolffe forces out through gritted teeth. Comet smiles in just the way he expected, though it’s much, much prettier on his face than Sinker’s, and lets his knees fall open as he leans his weight back. 

There are two slowly blackening patches on the sides of Comet’s shins. They draw Wolffe’s attention to the corded, pale furred muscle there, leading up into territories treacherous. Wolffe’s unfortunate predicament has not gone away, not in the slightest, and thinking about the hot flesh of bare thighs around his ears is only making it worse by the second.

“So, any comments, sir?”

Wolffe looks up and finds Comet staring down at him, gaze dark and full of satisfaction. He frees his wrists from his sides and shakes them out for something of a distraction.

“You’re damn fast, that’s for sure,” he tells him first, letting a little of his grudging awe colour his tone. “Don’t give your back to your opponent if you can’t follow through on that kick. Otherwise take their head off with it, for all I care. If it gets results, do it, but only if it gives you the advantage…”

Grinning now, Comet still hasn’t moved from atop Wolffe’s midriff. Wolffe’s hands have landed themselves on the closest handholds—the folds of Comet’s Force-damned  _ knees _ —and his thumbs are gently drawing circles of the soft skin beneath them. Suddenly it feels like all of Wolffe’s remaining saliva has migrated to the thick knot in his throat.

“Thank you, sir,” Comet says, innocent as the day he was decanted. “Is there anything else?”

They’re gathering an audience, now, of the graveyard visitors that are spread thin across the floor with perfect sightlines. Wolffe swallows thickly and smacks the side of Comet’s leg with one hand, almost able to ignore the jolt of shock it sends through him.

“Up,” he orders gruffly. “Up. And you can stay here, or you can come with me.”

“With you, sir?” Comet asks, slipping smoothly off Wolffe and offering a hand up. Wolffe grasps him by the forearm and hauls himself up, right into Comet’s space until their chests are a hair’s breadth apart. 

“With me, soldier,” he murmurs lowly, heart thudding in his chest, “unless there’s someone else you’d rather chase down?”

Comet’s eyebrows twitch as he holds Wolffe’s gaze, his pupils dilating to inky black and a swallow noticeably forcing its way down his throat. “Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I’ll—with you.”

Wolffe lets the corner of his lips twitch up. “Good boy.”

They collect their clothes and shoes from the bench in a tense quiet, Comet shooting him hot, nervous glances every few seconds that have anticipation sparking down his spine. The hallways are in their normal state of pre-night cycle sparsity, most vode spread between the showers, mess and common rooms, if not already sequestered away in their bunks, and so they meet very few on their way through the corridors. Those they do pass all stutter out a double take at Comet’s state of dress, and though Wolffe doesn’t blame them in the slightest, after several such encounters it’s enough to have him slam his fist against the keypad of the next room they come to and drag the kid inside by the wrist.

“Commander, sir?”

It’s one of the less frequented conference rooms of the ship, far enough from the bridge to be inconvenient but close enough to still be of use. The lights are dim but enough to illuminate the long, slate black table in the centre of the room, visible just behind Comet where he’s standing with his hands held politely behind his back.

“Is this not what you wanted, Lance Corporal?”

Wolffe makes sure the door is locked before taking a step closer, watching Comet closely. The water canteen he’d been holding thuds to the floor and Wolffe takes another step, and another, until they’re nose to nose and he can feel every one of Comet’s quickening breaths against his skin. Comet’s voice drops to barely a breath, his eyes dark and fixed to Wolffe’s mouth.

“What were you thinking,  _ Commander?” _

The growl comes from deep inside his chest. Wolffe takes Comet by the hips and walks them both quickly backwards until Comet’s knees hit the table and he falls back on his elbows over it. His lips are soft but bitten, parting under Wolffe’s with an eagerness and ferocity to match his earlier fighting. A noise of surprise, maybe appreciation, buzzes in his throat, and hands bury themselves unhesitatingly into Wolffe’s lightly curling crop of hair. 

A small flash of frustration crosses behind Wolffe’s eyes when he presses forwards and is hindered by the slide of blacks against blacks. He twists his fingers under the hem of Comet’s shirt and tugs it up, up over his chest, pulling away from his kiss to let Comet hold his arms up to get it off.

“Why did you bother putting that thing back on?” he murmurs, returning to nip at Comet’s lips while he whines. Comet’s displaced hands have travelled to his own waist, sneaking up past his own blacks, and Wolffe leans back to swiftly tear his shirt away again. Comet bites his plush, reddened bottom lip as he drags his nails from Wolffe’s collar bone to his navel. 

“Could ask you the same question, sir.”

Wolffe crushes their mouths together again and this time he moans lowly, loud in the hush of the empty room, and it makes Wolffe press closer, harder, greedy for the feel of hot skin against his. His hands creep down Comet’s sides to his adapted shorts, toying the waistband with his thumbs for a few teasing moments before continuing down the curve of Comet’s gorgeous backside to the too-high, skin-tight hem. The skin beneath is a soft fuzz over pure muscle, deadly and deliciously good, and Wolffe  _ wants. _

He takes one last lick into Comet’s mouth before pulling away, biting down on his lip as a parting gift, and moving across his sharp jaw to the long column of his neck. Comet gasps when he sinks his teeth in—lightly—and sucks over the mark. It blooms high and pretty on his throat and makes Wolffe grin sharply when he continues down, kissing, nipping and sucking sweet moans from the man under him. 

Nails scrape from his shoulders when he moves down and teases a nipple, enough so Comet can lean again on one elbow and throw his head back, breathless. Wolffe gets his hands under Comet’s thighs and hitches them up; Comet latches on immediately, his ankles flexing against Wolffe’s back as he locks one over the other.

“Hold onto me,” he murmurs, pleased when both arms return to wrap around his neck, and hoists Comet up off the table and into the cradle of his hips.

“Oh,” the kid gasps. His eyes are wide and staring incredulously at Wolffe, his mouth hanging open and begging to be kissed again. Wolffe obliges as he turns them and presses Comet into the closest wall, barely more than an arm’s length away, relishing the punched out noise he swallows when they collide with cool durasteel. Comet’s legs tighten around his sides, his cock trapped and straining against Wolffe’s body, and his fingers scrabble to twine themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. He hauls Wolffe closer and kisses him deeper, whining, moaning, and grinding his erection into Wolffe’s abs.

“You good, darling?” he murmurs. Comet moans.

“Yes sir, so good, please—”

Wolffe hitches him up higher and resumes his work on his neck and chest, encouraging Comet to shift himself up the wall as he goes. One nipple is red and bitten already and he licks at it, a shade too light, before sucking it into his mouth and pulling every time Comet writhes. His fingers find the waistband of his shorts again and he moves to the other nipple, licking and blowing a cool stream of air over it.

“Sir,” Comet pants, “Sir, Wolffe, please!”

He twists the little bud between his lips and Comet thrusts up against his chest. Letting it go, Wolffe gives his arse an appreciative squeeze and a little tap.

“D’you think you could get these up a bit farther for me, pup?”

Comet nods, grinning when Wolffe’s fingers slip under his blacks and begin to tug them down. With a few inches of freedom his cock springs up, flushed dark and hard, and the kid sighs with relief. 

No underwear, then. 

Wolffe ignores the throb in his own cock through gritted teeth. He braces Comet against the wall to hold him up while he lets go with one leg, lets Wolffe wrangle the shorts off him, and bends it up to hook it over one shoulder. 

“This would have been easier on the table,” Comet says, but he doesn’t complain when Wolffe tosses the offending blacks somewhere behind them and settles his other leg, using his new purchase on Comet’s thighs to shift him even higher up the wall. He doesn’t reply, because Comet’s right, really, but he does nuzzle into Comet’s crotch to press kisses into the crease of his thigh. The table might have been easier, sure, but would Comet have been able to hold himself upright long enough to watch?

Wolffe takes the time to suck several careful marks along the insides of Comet’s thighs. He bites down on the last one, verging on the inside of his knee, and grins when the muscle twitches between his teeth. He moves onto the other leg to the sweet music of Comet’s moans and works back up towards his neglected cock, a pretty pattern of teeth marks and flushing bruises in his wake.

Comet’s fingers twist in his hair and tug—Wolffe pulls away and smirks up at him.

“Something you want, Corporal?”

The kid whimpers and tugs again. “Please,” he begs.

Wolffe hums and leans in to kiss his tummy, just above the cockhead that’s beginning to leak. “You’ll have to tell me with words if you want it.”

“Please, sir,” Comet cries. “Please, touch me!”

“Where, Corporal?”

“My cock!  _ Please, _ sir, I want you to tou-touch my cock.”

Wolffe curls his arm up where it cradles his thigh to tease his fingers over the crown of Comet’s cock, drawing out another beautiful, high pitched whine. “Just touch? Or do you want me to suck you off, swallow you all the way and let you come down my throat?” Comet cries out, cock twitching, and it’s almost a shout. Wolffe smiles. “Hm? You like that?”

_ “Sir,” _ Comet pants. “Please sir—please suck me off.”

“Good boy.” Wolffe ducks in to take the head of his cock into his mouth immediately and with no warning—good boys deserve rewards, after all.

“Oh, kriff!” Comet shouts above him. The fingers in his hair tighten to a good, sharp pain, and the hot and bitter taste of a heavy cock fills his mouth. He bobs down and takes in more before he starts swirling his tongue around that thick shaft, pulling back again to tease the head and lick a stripe up the underside. A long, loud moan fills the room, alongside the thud of Comet’s head falling back against the wall. 

Wolffe sucks him down again, swallowing and swallowing as he tries to open his throat. The angle’s slightly weird, not one he’s used to, but he can work with it, pushing lower with every bob of his head even as his neck protests. He shifts, nudging Comet a little higher with his trembling arms and inadvertently shoving him farther down his throat as he does so. Comet makes a wounded noise and his hips twitch, and Wolffe hums around him as he languidly works his way back up.

“Go ahead,” he says roughly, blinking up at Comet. He pats his hip for good measure. “Go on.”

Comet whimpers and tilts his hips forward cautiously. Wolffe lets the tip slide back between his lips, looking on with patience as Comet pushes his cock ever so hesitantly into Wolffe’s mouth. He sucks on it, laves his tongue over the underside and skims him under the very edge of his teeth—it’s enough to have Comet crying out and jerking forward, thrusting up just the way Wolffe wants him to. He hums and swallows down again and Comet  _ shudders, _ his thighs going tight around Wolffe’s ears. The feeling is incredible.

“Kriff, sir—Wolffe, sir—you feel so good, I…  _ oh…!” _

Wolffe lets him thrust gently into his mouth under his own steam, sucking and licking and moaning around him for good measure. Comet’s gasps and groans of pleasure are muffled by the pulse beating in Wolffe’s ears—hot, tight muscle twitches and flexes beneath his jaw and has him rutting forward into empty space for relief.

“C-Commander!” Comet cries. The fingers in Wolffe’s hair yank for his attention—or maybe in reflex—and he hums around the length Comet has worked right into his throat. “Commander, Wolffe, I’m going to—”

Wolffe looks up to meet his eyes again as he drags up, unaware of when he had closed his own, and takes him right back down to the root again in one stroke. The feeling of Comet jerking and shouting and coming hard in that moment is unexpectedly arousing; Wolffe grunts and hauls the kid closer, suddenly determined to drag that sound out of him over and over again.

_ “Oh…”  _ The weak whine trembles from Comet’s lips as he shudders once more and goes limp in Wolffe’s arms. The change nearly has him slipping toward the floor but Wolffe crushes him hastily against the wall, careful not to choke when he lifts his head off Comet’s spent cock.

Panting, he grins. “You still all right in there?”

“Be'er than all righ’,” Comet sighs. At Wolffe’s back his feet swing, uncrossing his knees and digging heels into both shoulder blades to press them closer, if that were possible. “How ’bout you, C’mander?”

Wolffe hums and hooks his palms beneath Comet’s thighs, lifting them to get his mouth back on the firm, sweet skin there. His position against the wall isn’t the prime vantage point for friction on his throbbing, neglected erection but it’s enough, enough to make him groan and renew his attack on the no-longer-blank canvas of Comet’s legs with fervour.

“Commander,” Comet murmurs after a while of squirming between skin and durasteel. “Please, let me do something.”

“You’re fine here,” Wolffe says into the underside of one knee. In truth his shoulders are killing him, beginning to shake, but he’s pretty sure he’d be happy to stand here all night, Comet willing.

Comet wriggles, sliding further down and looking a little squished. He looks at Wolffe with large eyes and a slight, calculated pout. “Please?”

Sighing, Wolffe helps him keep his balance as he gets his feet underneath him. He startles when Comet falls to his knees as soon as he’s let go, but—seemingly, it wasn’t an accident.

Comet curls one hand behind Wolffe’s leg as the other slips beneath the band of his blacks. “You need looking after too, Commander,” he says, voice low, and suddenly Wolffe finds himself shoved backwards.

“Fucki—what?”

Comet grins and rises to follow as he stumbles back. One palm on his chest presses him down into a waiting chair and slips lower, lower until he’s stripping the blacks from under him and climbing into his lap. 

“Comet,” he breathes. 

“Hey, Commander,” Comet replies smugly, and kisses him.

Wolffe surrenders to his fire and ferocity in moments, sinking into the uncomfortable backrest without a care in the galaxy. Not when he has Comet’s tongue in his mouth like he does and his deft hand pulling him out of his shorts. Not when he’s working Wolffe’s desperate cock with skill and care and eagerness, bleeding through arm that clings around his neck, the strong legs that pen him in, and the chest that presses hard and firm to his. It’s a lot, it’s overwhelming, it’s absolutely and totally intoxicating. 

It’s everything Wolffe thinks they’ve spent the last handful of weeks leading up to. 

He’ll have to thank the other two for their transparent set-ups later—at this moment in time, he doesn’t give a damn about anything other than Comet’s beauty and Comet’s tenacity and every single searing point of contact between them.

Comet rocks forward into him and it makes them both whimper; Wolffe grunts and nips at Comet’s lip and shudders beneath him, chasing the liquid heat that’s pooling in his gut and sparking up his spine. Comet fists his hand in the hair at the back of his head and pulls again, making space for himself beneath Wolffe’s chin, attaching his mouth to a beating pulse point and biting down.

“Comet—Comet  _ fuck—” _

Wolffe’s come splashes up between them, hot white streaks that drip down both their bodies as Comet milks him for all he’s worth. A string of hissed curses accompanies each of his clever teases and neat, gentle kisses that travel across Wolffe’s shoulder until he can breathe again, and then Comet’s sharing his air, hovering in front of his face. Their lips brush, just barely: a hesitant kiss that Wolffe tilts his head into and nearly breaks for the shattered noise it pulls from Comet’s throat. He can’t help, then, but wind his arms around Comet’s waist and tug him closer, kissing him with all the feeling he can pull from his chest.

“Wolffe,” Comet whispers when they break apart again. “Wolffe, I…”

Wolffe smiles and reaches up to tuck a straying, sweaty curl back behind his ear. “It’s okay, pup,” he promises, voice soft and low. “It’s okay. I have you.”  _ I’m here. I know. _

Comet sags into him, smiling and giddy, and buries his nose in the junction of Wolffe’s shoulder. Wolffe strokes soothingly down one of his legs and he giggles.

“They’ll all be asking if I ran into a rabid tooka on the way back,” he says. He doesn’t sound too cut up about it. “But I bet you did it on purpose, didn’t you.”

“Would I do such a thing?” Wolffe rumbles with all the innocence of their General caught sneaking sweets to the crèche initiates for the third time in a week. Comet laughs again, and Wolffe finds his tired arm tightening around the slim waist beneath almost without thought, something warm and completely unrelated to their earlier intimacy welling around his heart.

“Think you can stand?” he asks.

Comet sits back and smirks at him. “Shouldn’t  _ I _ be the one asking, old man?”

“Oh you little shit,” Wolffe huffs. “That’s it. You’re walking back naked if it’s going to be like that.”

To his surprise, Comet’s brow merely quirks. “Oh, and you’d like that, would you?”

Wolffe freezes where he’s about to shove Comet off so he can find and steal his blacks. He must show something on his face, because the kid practically cracks himself in two trying not to laugh.

“Oh shut up,” he grumbles. “Go and put your clothes back on, unless you really want to be going back naked.”

“But what if I  _ do _ want to—”

Wolffe snorts loudly and smacks his rear. “Just get your clothes on, sweetheart. Can’t have you catching a cold now, can we?”

Comet sighs and leans down to press a last, lingering kiss to Wolffe’s lips before slipping out of his lap. Already missing the warmth of all that soft skin pressed to his, and at the same time pretending he wasn’t chasing his mouth, Wolffe starts fishing around for his own discarded clothes.

“You know, we’d probably pass a lot fewer people if you weren’t dropping me off at the bunk rooms,” Comet says casually, conversationally, as if Wolffe had told him he was planning to.

“Is that so?” he asks. When he settles the tops of his blacks around his neck he realises that they’re nowhere near high enough to hide the bruises forming beneath his chin. Payback, maybe. Comet hums.

“I can think of one or two places that might be a bit closer… One of them even has its own private ’fresher, I hear.”

Wolffe hides his smile in his rescued water canteen. Well, if he wants to play it that way…

“I wonder who you know who could have quarters of that calibre,” he says. “Must be pretty high up on the chain.”

“Oh, yes. Quite.”

“Hmm, must be quite the soldier, then.”

Comet, back in his reg-bait shorts and top, smiles with a  _ lot _ of teeth when he steps back into Wolffe’s space. “Quite,” he agrees, and runs a finger over Wolffe’s collar. “I might even say he’s the best I’ve ever known.”

Wolffe doesn’t stop the grin that curls his lips as he takes Comet’s hand in his and nearly drags him from the room. 

Yeah, he thinks, this one. He likes this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here on [tumblr!](https://firewoodwander.tumblr.com/)


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